Or all of the above.
Our household is entering new territory in our expedition through the seasons of life. Like Lewis and Clark as they rowed up the Missouri River into the Great Plains. We have crossed into the semi-wild Preteen Uplands. We’ve encountered Deodorant Trees and inhaled (gratefully) of their nectar. We’ve been exhilarated by the Rapids Of Too Many Activities. We’ve drank deeply from the Brook Of Evening Prayer. We’ve traversed the Scree Field of Sassy Responses To Normal, Everyday Requests. And we’ve also had to pull ourselves free of the Bogs of Big Emotional Meltdowns.
It’s that last landmark that I want to get into today. As our kids get older, the emotions are getting bigger. And sometimes, when kids from hard places enter the hormonally charged atmosphere of Preteen Territory, the Big Emotional Meltdowns can get extra boggy extra quickly.
Here’s how this goes. There’s typically one big thing that gets us off-trail: a misplaced expectation, the need for a sudden adjustment, an un-welcomed correction, a Big Emotion that has not been adequately processed. The greater the struggle, the greater the grip of the muck. As we sink, the child grasps at other narrative twigs, other un-processed brambles to help slow the descent. But they just break off in-hand. The emotions escalate until all of the feelings, all of the words, have been cried out. Then, finally, a collapse. Exhaustion hits. The body lays back, depleted of all tears and energy. It’s then that Lindsey and I are able to pull our child back to solid ground.
We usually fall into these bogs near bedtime for some reason, and the struggle can last for an hour or more. So, once calm has been restored, we tuck our kiddo into bed. Then we’re left to clean the mud from ourselves. To make sense of what just happened. We, too, are exhausted. And I start wondering what the actual Teenage Wilderness will have in store. I go there in my mind. I start telling myself scary stories about the future and doubt that we have what it takes to survive.
I want you to know that we try really hard not to fall into the bog. There are things we try to keep us from getting sucked in. Sometimes we’re successful. Sometimes we’re not. Sometimes, we realize we’re on the verge, and a wrong word or a stern Dad Mode glance can send us sprawling head-long into the bog. I guess what I’m saying is that I’m a sinner and can contribute to these meltdowns. But I’ve also realized how not in control I am of the situation. Even when I stay out of Dad Mode and do my best to blend anchored empathy with patience and wisdom, we can still end up sinking into the muck. Even when Lindsey and I do everything right as parents, it may not guarantee safe passage.
Our family recently finished reading Pony by R.J. Palacio. It’s an enthralling, mildly creepy, but beautifully written story about a boy who’s searching for his kidnapped father with the help of a U.S. Marshall and a ghost that only the boy can see. Think True Grit meets The Sixth Sense. Really.
(For parents wondering if you should read this book to your kids: yes, read it out loud to them because it has fantastic sentences. It’s probably most suitable for older elementary or middle school-aged kids. One other caveat is that there is a Right Side of History moment—let the reader understand—near the very end that can be glossed over easily enough but is still highly unnecessary and super annoying. Anyway.)
Early in the book, the boy, the boy’s ghost, and the U.S. Marshall are tracking the men who took the boy’s father through the Woods. And there’s a bog in the Woods. And in the bog, the boy sees several other ghosts. He sees them in their dead state. He sees their bodies and the bleeding, fatal wounds of the dead. The dead people start coming toward the boy. The boy freaks out, which freaks out his pony, and the pony high-tails it out of the bog.
The bog represents the places of emotional and spiritual and physical trauma. In the bog, all the things that scare us come looking for us.
The boy doesn’t know what the dead people would have done to him, if anything. But the pony didn’t stick around long enough to find out.
On a completely different note: I find it interesting that my favorite character from C.S. Lewis’s Narnia universe, Puddleglum, lived in a swamp (bog) and was super emo. Might have to noodle more on this some time.
Lindsey and I were in the middle of such a bog with one of our kids, doing all we could to listen and understand and to stave off the thrashing and sinking. It was not going well. Mud was flying everywhere.
Then Lindsey tried something that we had learned way back in our foster care training: the HALT approach. HALT stands for hungry, angry, lonely, tired. In our training, we were encouraged to identity if the child, struggling with emotional dis-regulation, was experiencing any of these emotions or sensations. If yes, then try to stop (halt) and address one of the conditions. Because if a child (or an adult) is trying to make sense of a Big Emotion while hungry or angry or all of the above, they can end up in a bog. Our physical, emotional, and spiritual well-being are all interconnected. The physical state can inform the emotional state and vice versa.
So this is what Lindsey tried. She asked our child these questions: are you hungry? are you angry? are you feeling lonely? are you tired? The answer to all of them was yes.
It did not magically get us out of the bog. But it helped us show our child that the Big Emotion, while worth listening to and addressing, was being magnified by these other factors. We tried to help him stop—to be still, to lay back in the muck and take some deep breaths. The dis-regulated state abated enough that our kiddo was able to obey our request to go take a shower. To get the mud off. And then after the shower, to get some food.
This particular episode hit as Lindsey and I were heading out for date night. It absolutely delayed our departure. But because we stuck it out, we were able to give our kid a hug before we left—a clean, shower-fresh hug. Things were moving in the right direction. Lindsey’s mom usually watches the kids on date night, and when we returned home later that evening, she reported that she and all of the kids had had a connected, normal, and enjoyable night together. Whew.
Now, a couple things. These kind of Bog Meltdowns don’t happen terribly often. We’re not living in a bog. Jesus is kind and merciful and we are enjoying the season of life we’re in with our kids. Also, there are other emotions that are just as valid and mood-defining as hunger, anger, loneliness, and tiredness. These four cover a lot of ground, though. If we can help our kids pay attention and realize when they are feeling these emotions, not only will it help them grow in their ability to name other feelings or physical realities, they will also be better equipped to get unstuck sooner.
Which is why I wrote the following prayer. I plan to print it and give it to our kids to help them seek out the Holy Ghost when they find themselves sinking into the bog of Big Emotions. We’ve prayed it a couple times as a family and over our kids individually. I pray that you or your kids find it useful, as well. Having words to help you name things can be a catalyst for more prayer.
So consider this a starting point, and may you find God big enough to deal with your biggest emotions.
A prayer for when you feel hungry or angry or lonely or tired (or all of these things at once)
Dear Father, help me right now
to stop and be still and know
that you are here with me,
that you know how I feel,
that you have felt all these emotions, too,
and that I will not feel like this forever
or possibly even an hour or a day from now.
O Lord, when I feel this way
I tell myself stories
about the past,
about the future,
and these are scary stories,
full of fear and worry
and often empty of hope and truth.
I ask that you’d fill my heart and lungs
with the breath of your Spirit,
with your truth and your love—
and with that air, I would tell myself true stories
about who I am and who you are.
Because nothing can separate me from you—
not hunger nor anger nor loneliness
nor any other feeling.
Your son, Jesus, is alive
and because he lives
I can name these feelings,
give them to you,
and somehow
receive them
as a gift
that opens up my eyes and ears and heart
to how you will satisfy me and my needs.
And to how, right now, you are praying,
praying for me
to the Father.
You do not promise
that I won’t have trouble in this life
or that I won’t feel strong emotions.
But you do promise
to be with me always—
even to the end of the world,
which is what it feels like right now.
You promise to comfort those who weep.
Help me, in the field of these feelings,
to trust that you can grow a harvest of joy
from the seeds of my tears.
Give me grace to hunger after you.
Give me mercy to not sin in my anger.
Give me peace that comes from your friendship.
Give me rest from my labor
in your gentle and lowly heart.
In Jesus’s mighty name, I pray.
Amen.
