Holding my mistakes

One of the most remarkable aspects of the work I do is engaging with teachers of three- and four-year-olds and observing their growth as educators over time – recognizing their passion, reflecting on their work, and always committing to doing better. One of the really painful parts of this that I remember well through my own training is coming to terms with who you used to be. Maya Angelou said it best, “when you know better, you do better”. But the hard part can be forgiving yourself for when you didn’t know better. But that’s just it, you didn’t know. Now, as a reflective, knowledgeable person committed to doing better, you look back and wish you had known sooner, wish you could undo the mistakes that you made. But those little mistakes are the gifts that hold you committed to doing better in the future.

Today was a particularly powerful day in training as we learn new strategies for engaging with children in difficult, emotional situations. We learn new skills but also remember the times and the outcomes when we didn’t have these skills and we feel guilty.  I shared with them that as a parent of a four-year-old, I get it. I can vividly recount every time I feel like I failed him as a parent. But I’ve never counted the times I succeeded; I carry around the mistakes. And sometimes they are heavy. But I also know they help me to do better every time.

After the day had ended, I spent a lot of time reflecting on the emotions of the women in my training room today and remembering the countless times when I had felt the exact same way as both a parent and a teacher. Always wishing I had known better and carrying around these little mistakes I had made that help me move forward as a wiser person committed to reflecting and adjusting my behavior.

Here is one of the mistakes that I carry as a parent:

Reading is really important in my family. For knowledge, for enjoyment, for bonding with others, for life success. We read as a family, we read alone, and there are books in every room of the house. So like many families, reading books with our son is part of our bedtime routine. Our son can be a bit pokey around bedtime and it is indescribably frustrating. He be-bops around, being silly, constantly in motion, but never really towards the goal of getting ready for bed. Surely, it seems that if one moves that much, clothes should easily slip off and one could wiggle into pajamas. But that’s not the case. My husband and I spend a significant amount of time reminding him to focus on his task. We let him choose the order: potty, teeth then jams, or jams, potty, then teeth. No amount of reminders or shared control will speed this little guy along.

So we impose a logical consequence and we bargain with our only token: books. We gently remind him that if it takes too long to get ready, there may only be time for two books instead of three. Or if things are going really slow, there may only be time for one book instead of two. He loves to read so on most days, this is enough.  Well, one night out of pure frustration and eagerness to get to my adult, post-child-bedtime agenda, I threatened no books. He tested my threat and needless to say, we didn’t read any books that night. He cried. My heart ached. And I was immediately filled with regret for taking away something so simple, for compromising something so integral to our family values, for sacrificing our precious opportunity to spend a few minutes rocking and snuggling, for putting my agenda and frustration above his limited attention and understanding of time. 

This never happened again. We start earlier, we give more reminders, we whittle down from three to two to one book, we're honest about our feelings of frustration when the process is taking too long, but we always, ALWAYS read one book together. 

So here’s the thing, not really a big deal, right? I missed one night of reading to my kid, he’ll probably still pass 4^th grade, right? My son is 1,526 days old. I didn’t read to him on 1 day of his life. I’m not focused on the other 1,525 days when I did read to him. I’m holding the mistake of the 1. But gently carrying that one around reminds me of the time that I compromised my values out of momentary frustration and imposed a consequence that hurt all of us. So I carry this around, I adjust my behavior, I remember how that experience felt for all of us, I prioritize my values over moments of frustration. And I think this is good. Now, I know better and I do better. 

Those mistakes you're holding? They're there to help you. 

Hold these gifts gently, be grateful for them, and give yourself a little grace.