The last few weeks I have found gentle parenting hard, so very hard and I’ve failed at it many times.
The exhaustion over the constant fighting, whingeing, public meltdowns, demands and Groundhog Day of laughter then tears to follow has had the tension rise.
The testing, oooo the testing. In so many moments I’ve wondered, do they want me to yell at them? Is that their goal right now?
I’ve felt a huge disconnect and wanted to just retreat to the shower to fill my head with silence when I know connection is the one thing they are screaming for.
And the ages 3 and 4 have given me more consecutive headaches than I have had in my entire life.
Gentle parenting is not easy.
It’s perseverance, patience and practice.
It’s a promise.
Of something you may not be able to see yet, but one day will.
Even if you don’t always get it right (and you won’t).
It’s easier to drown in the waves of chaos, with them.
It’s easier to yell and scream back.
it’s easier to wear their emotions rather than let them air out.
The gentle approach is hard, and to be honest doesn’t come that naturally to me.
I’ve sat in bed at night with my husband and questioned this tactic a hundred times.
“Is this even working”?
But yesterday when one of my kids started acting up and the other approached with a soft voice and a hand on their back it was like they handed me a little gift of strength.
Yes, I’ve failed at being a ‘perfect’ gentle parent every day.
But I think it’s meeting them where they’re at when you’re still reeling.
Apologising when you’re wrong.
Opening your arms to them, when to be honest, you don’t really want to.
The forever trying.
It’s the forever trying that’s the winning.