(By Oriane Boyer):
A little while ago, I spent a day taking care of my two nieces, Rosa, 9, and Suzie, 6.
The girls really wanted to watch cartoons, so I said, “Okay, go ahead.”
Meanwhile, I cleared away breakfast, did the dishes, prepared lunch, set the table, and packed our bags for the beach.
At some point, I asked Rosa, “Where are the swimsuits?”
She replied, “They’re over there!!!” Her tone sounded almost like shouting to me.
I got triggered.
Then Suzie spoke to me in a similar way. And I lost it. My jackal simply howled. I shouted: “I’ve had enough!! I’m doing everything for you, and you’re talking to me like I’m a dog! This really doesn’t work for me. I don’t feel like supporting you anymore. My heart is closed. I feel really far away from you right now.”
A little later, the three of us were in the car, on our way to the beach.
Silence.
Rosa was silent.
Suzie was silent.
I was silent.
I think we were all a little shocked by what had just happened.
When we arrived at the beach, I asked:
“Shall we make a sharing circle?”
They said yes.
So there we were, the three of us, sitting in a circle at the beach, sharing what had happened for each of us.
Suzie shared that my anger had scared her.
Rosa expressed that when someone gets angry, she gets angry too.
And I shared how hurt I had felt by the way they had spoken to me.
Then we took turns reflecting back what we had heard.
I was particularly moved when they reflected my experience: “Yes, Tati, what I hear is that when we spoke to you like that, it hurt you.”
And then I learned something I couldn’t have known while I was angry.
Rosa explained what had been happening for her: “I was playing, and you asked me the same question four times. I became really impatient.”
Ah. I hadn’t seen that.
Suddenly, there was more space between us.
Not because what had happened was erased. Not because my shouting had somehow become okay.
But because we were beginning to understand each other. We could see each other again.
Later, I suggested we have a ‘playfight’*. I explained the rules, and they loved the idea. So we wrestled and played. Me and Suzie, me and Rosa, and then the two of them together.
At one point, I consciously let them both win. We laughed. A lot.
And I noticed: We were closer. Even closer than we had been before the fight! More cuddly. More tender. More connected. More loving.
Going through the rupture and finding our way back to each other had brought us even closer.
*A playfight is playful wrestling with clear rules and attention to each other’s limits, a way to use our strength, move our bodies, and release some of the energy that is there.
And there’s another story:
When I finished writing this newsletter, I suddenly realized: Wow. I almost sent this without even asking Rosa and Suzie if they were okay with me sharing our story!
As if children’s consent somehow mattered less than adults’.
I was quite shocked to notice this in myself.
So I sent them a message, asking if they were comfortable with me sharing what had happened.
And their answer was very clear: “NO WAY, Tati! It’s our life! It’s private! No!”
And there they were, showing me how clearly children can express their boundaries when they’re actually asked, and heard.
So I respected their no, and I was ready not to share the story.
A few days later, we had another conversation about it. I asked if they would be open to hearing a little more about why I had wanted to share it in the first place. They said yes.
I explained that my hope was that this story might help other adults reflect on how they relate to children, and maybe inspire more empathy, respect, and connection.
But I also wanted them to know that they didn’t have to say yes! It was their story too, and they were free to keep it private.
We explored some possibilities together, like changing their names or leaving out certain details. And I left the decision with them.
Then, one morning, they came to me. “Tati, we’ve thought about it. And because we’d like adults to be more empathic with children, we’ve decided that yes, you can share it!”
I was so touched.
Not just by their yes, but by the fact that they had taken the time to think about it, and had come to their own decision.
I am so happy to imagine that they know their “no” is just as precious as their “yes”.
I also asked for their parents’ consent, and made sure the girls were comfortable with me including their names and ages.
So now, with their agreement, I hope you enjoy our story.
What stayed with me
This experience reminded me of something I deeply want to remember.
I don’t need to be a perfectly calm, perfectly regulated adult in order to create an environment where deep connection and love is possible.
Of course, I want to take responsibility for how I use my power. I want to care for the impact of my anger, especially with children. And I don’t want to make them responsible for my emotions.
And, I also know that sometimes I will lose my temper. I will get overwhelmed. I will say things I wish I had said differently.
Sometimes, connection will break.
And what matters so much to me is this: The story doesn’t have to end there.
We can have the skills to come back. To listen to and hear what happened for each of us. We can acknowledge the fear, the hurt, the anger.
We can take responsibility for our part without needing to figure out who did wrong and who was the angel.
And sometimes, something surprising happens: The very place where connection broke becomes a doorway into deeper intimacy.
Not because fighting is fun nor sweet. But because of what becomes possible when we dare to meet each other more fully.
This is something I want to contribute to; with children, with adults, in families, in groups, in our communities:
Not a world without conflict, but a world where we know more and more how to find each other again after conflict.
And thank you, Rosa and Suzie, for choosing to share our story with everyone.
Oriane