My oldest was sick and pitching a fit. My youngest, also sick, was crying as she claimed, “I can’t breathe.” Meanwhile, my middle child was crying because, well, everyone else was crying, so why the hell not? Meltdowns, meltdowns, everywhere!
My wife and I made eye contact with one another. Then we both began laughing like The Joker hatching a grand plot to destroy Gotham.
Sometimes, the ship just sinks.
It’s no secret to any mom or dad that parenting is easily one of the hardest jobs in the world. Parents often feel out of control and ruled by their children’s whims. I’m not talking about bad discipline or poor parenting. Your kids hold your sanity and your very destiny, in some very real ways, in their hands – and I’m convinced they know it.
These moments of complete familial meltdowns felt like failure for a long time. Isn’t it my job to keep it all together? If I’m any good at this parenting thing, why can’t I always stop the kids from freaking out? Why can’t I calmly and rationally navigate the quagmire of endless variables to find a way to de-escalate this situation and bring peace to the family dynamic? Why?
Because, sometimes, the ship just sinks.
Meltdowns? Let ’em happen!
I’m not sure why that phrase has come to mean our home has descended into bedlam. Over the years, I’ve used the phrase to comfort myself. I visualize trying to save a cruise ship from sinking by bailing it with a cheap plastic cup. The phrase and visual remind me that no matter how hard you may try to keep everyone happy, you’ll eventually fail. On certain days, the kids conspire together to burn the universe down. Resistance to their assimilation is futile. Like any cleansing fire, you just need to let it burn.
Sadly, I’m not here to offer advice on how to avoid the ship sinking. I say let it sink.
Let the kids cry a bit.
This is not an invitation for them to run like banshees down supermarket aisles. However, when at home, trying to forcibly restore order can be more damaging. It often prolongs the suffering. When all three kids were crying, and my wife and I chose to laugh, it quickly diffused the situation. Each child slowly calmed down. This allowed us to address their issues – if possible – and slowly, calmly restore order.
It would be great if I could smugly proclaim this has always been my strategy. I’m an order guy. I like to tell the kids what to do, and I often demand they obey with little to no complaints. (I bet you’re laughing. You should be laughing!) But in reality that doesn’t often happen. The wisdom contained in my words has emerged from the fiery cauldron of failure and chronic mistakes. Some sort of super-powerful parenting physics law comes into play here: Every forceful and ill-fated action taken by parents to restore calm is often met with an exponentially greater reaction to resist desired calm. You just read it on the internet, so it’s irrefutable science.
Sometimes failure is an option
If your home is often plagued by full-scale meltdowns, I’d understand if you have adopted a different strategy. My wife and I only occasionally experience our Chernobyl, so it’s a bit easier to surrender to the moment. If your family dynamic is more complicated, maybe there are too many fires to let burn, but I hope the following encouragement soothes the scars.
It’s OK. It’s all OK.
I’m not offering a participation trophy. I’m speaking truth. Sometimes, the ship just sinks, and that’s OK. You’re not a failure. Your children aren’t monsters (well some are, but surely not YOURS). We all fail to maintain full unit cohesion every now and then. They may be tiny and cute, but those damn kids are still just people. Sometimes people suck. Sometimes, there’s not much you can do but step back, let it all burn down, and be there with a hug to cool things off.
The next time your neck deep in a kid-generated flood, remember you’re not alone. All across the world, maybe even the universe, there are parents witnessing the full meltdown of their brood. Whether it’s a spaceship, a cruise ship or a battleship, sometimes the ship just sinks. Let it happen, and I’ll see you on the other side.
Unless your kids really ARE monsters. In which case, build a submarine.
Photo by Keira Burton via Pexels.
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