Language is powerful. And language is power. At our very youngest and most vulnerable stages in life, our story is one that others tell about us. As we mature and grow toward independence, the baton is passed in the form of a brush that paints our own personal landscape, a pen that captures our own self narrative. And we grow to the tune that actions speak louder than words, that we are what we do, not what we say we do--but from those first moments outside of the womb (sometimes even beforehand), it is words that give life to those actions--the very ones that define who we are and who we will become.As adults, as parents, as educators who work with young children, are we speaking to and about the little ones in our lives in a way that honors who they are in this moment and nurtures their earliest steps in becoming? What landscape do we illustrate with our words for the children we speak to and speak about? And with our youngest ones, it is as much the words we speak as the moments we are silent. There is a great amount of energy and potential in our communication with (and about) our tiny humans and it has a ripple effect.
The same is true for adults. I think about how my own mood might shift if, say I were working, my supervisor came into my room and pointed out something positive versus something negative. Say she loves what I've set up on the table that morning for the students. Suddenly, I feel incredible. I feel good about myself and my abilities. My performance that day will likely reflect that inflation of self confidence. Challenges will be easy to overcome. My energy for supporting my students will be abundant. And likely, that ripple effect will also extend to seeing others in a more positive light. But what if she comes and sees that my floors haven't been swept and look unkempt? Now I feel rather frustrated. Does she not value my true talents and skills, but rather only the aesthetics of the room? Now the little challenges of the day will seem more frustrating. My patience is thinner as much of my energy is consumed with self doubt. I might also see others in a less positive light and notice more of the "messes" and "less aesthetically pleasing" sights around me.
And the same is true in parenthood. At my core, I know my children. I know their strengths, their challenges, their quirks and their talents. But how others speak about them and see them can also shape my parenting. If I pick up my son from school and hear about a struggle he had in class or something that frustrated his teachers, I might feel a sensitivity toward him and compassion. And at the same time, those behaviors will be magnified for me. Suddenly his snail like pace to get in the car and up the stairs to his afternoon nap are more than I can tolerate. I'm frustrated with him; I'm frustrated for him. But then, if I happen to hear he's had a success in the classroom or demonstrated growth in an area he previously struggled with, that same exact afternoon routine looks differently to me. He dawdles on the way to the car like every day. He drops his school bag in the middle of an empty parking spot and abandons it there as he discovers a seed pod lying next to the curb. But I am so enamored with the fact that he noticed the seed pod and is curious about what's inside and where it came from. He is such a little naturalist, I think to myself. So curious and full of wonder. And I suddenly have infinite patience for that snail like pace to his car seat and up the stairs for nap time.
So if my own parenting is so greatly affected by the words spoken about my child, how much more so is my child affected by them? When I think about the words that were used to define me as I grew up, I can see how some became self-fulfilling prophecies, for better or for worse. I can see how others were abandoned, almost defiantly as I claimed a stake in my story. And I can see how, still others, became landmarks on the map of a journey I voraciously pursued. At our very youngest, so much of life is future focused. What a paradoxical universe our children exist in, when so much of early childhood is defined by living in the moment. And as tiny humans who are so in the moment, it must be so disorienting at times to live in a world that requires us to be bigger, older, stronger and wiser before we can truly amount to anything. So how can we, as adults who love and nurture children, use language (and nonverbal communication as well) to honor who are children already are in this moment?
This is more of a rhetorical question and lifelong journey for me as an adult raising and working with children than one I can fully unpack in the space of a blog post. I can certainly share some of my own thoughts and I'd love to hear from others on the topic as well. I feel that it boils down (more simply stated than implemented) to honoring our children in who they are in this moment and seeing them--and ourselves--as humans in a perpetual state of becoming.
Honoring Processes: When we respect a child's process, we notice their experiences with judgments (positive and negative) removed. In fact, the simple act of noticing and seeing a child in his environment is perhaps the greatest gift we can give--well beyond that of our external praise and acceptance. Language that conveys to children that they are seen instills security and trust as well as confidence and feelings of competence.
Honoring Emotions: We convey respect when we provide supportive language and a safety net for large emotions--however "appropriate" or "messy" they may seem to us adults. We may not agree with someone else's emotions or reactions but we cannot dictate them either. It is challenging as an adult--particularly as an invested and attached adult--to separate from our child's strong feelings. Nonetheless, the more we can connect with our children in moments of intensity, the more that they can connect with themselves and their own emotions in moments of intensity. Phrases like "that's not scary" or "it's no big deal" or "don't cry, be brave," can be rephrased in ways that validate the emotion and empower the person feeling it. I can remember S coining a phrase I absolutely love: "I'm scared AND I'm brave of this."
Honoring the Need Behind the Behavior: This is a tough one when it comes to "unsavory" behaviors in our children. We see particular behaviors in children through very adult lenses and we can lose sight of the fact that all children are born into this world with a first language that is not verbal communication. Behaviors from the time they very first exit the womb are how they survive and get their needs met. And so, it should be no surprise, that in moments of intensity, children resort to their "first language" to communicate their deepest needs. Can you allow yourself to step back, to slow down, and to wonder (maybe even with your child) what need their behavior is communicating?
Honoring Relationships: While tiny humans lack an adult version of tact and empathy, they do not lack a human need and desire for connection and acceptance. Relationships matter. When we support our children and honor them in building, nurturing and preserving their relationships, we give them a tool that can carry them for life--a teaching a man to fish scenario, so to speak. Removal from difficult situations, whether done punitively or protectively, inhibits their opportunity to cultivate the skills necessary to maintain healthy relationships. And while everyone (adults included) sometimes needs a break or a time out or some personal space--it is important that we help children to verbalize and facilitate those moments of reunion. This includes giving language and tools to repair a damaged relationship--and a reminder even to ourselves, that a broken rope tied in a knot is stronger after the repair than it was before the damage occurred.
Honoring Pace: This is perhaps one of the ones I most greatly struggle with as an adult. Children's sense of time is so very different from our own. We, particularly in our technologically driven and advanced world, operate on such a rapid pace. Not necessarily so for the tiny humans in our lives. Allowing that pace to slow down for our children is a challenge and truly a gift. This can even include the pace of our own language and words--slowing down our speech and our tendency to jump in and provide a monologue for every experience a child is having in a classroom or at home--and replacing it with the space of silence. Observing. Seeing. Being present and available, but not needing to name it, claim it or experience it for them.
Honoring Space: And speaking of space, giving respect to a child's experience in his space and expression within that is huge. Ideas about aesthetics from the shorter members of our families and classrooms can run on a different axis than our own, but what message do we convey to our youngest artists, designers, engineers, etc, when we impose our adult visions of beauty on our children's environment to the exclusion of their own. Does your space, whether at home or in a classroom, reflect the values of all the people in it? Whether it's through artwork and meaningful objects displayed, preserving a block tower in progress rather than forcing clean up because that's what happens after playtime or honoring a request to wear those mismatched clothes to school that she picked out herself, honoring a child's space and ownership in it conveys a deep message that goes well beyond words. Children can experience and recognize beauty in their own right.
Honoring this Moment: And this one, is perhaps the greatest of all. When we honor and respect children for who they already are in this moment, when we convey the deepest message of acceptance that most adults still long to hear--you are enough--we truly pass the baton to our children and empower them to be authors and illustrators of their own self narrative. What if instead of praising a child who thinks scientifically with a statement of "perhaps you'll be a scientist when you grow up!" we offered them the language to describe themselves in this moment, already as complete and whole human beings (tiny as they are). "You showed scientific thinking when you wondered about the moon being out during the daytime!" And if we can do that in the moments of "triumph," imagine how much more so we can empower our children when the conversation around the "harder moments" shifts.
I hear again and again about how "today's children have changed." And I'd argue that today's children have not change; adults have. The pendulum may have swung from the days of children being "seen and not heard," and yet many of the more subtle adult mentalities around this phrase still exist. We waver between wanting our children to grow up and be independent advocates for their beliefs to wanting them to refrain from expressing any opinions at all until they are 40 (or at least until dinner time is over). We waver between seeing them as "only children" and expecting them to act like adults. We waver between the powerful messages of the #metoo movement, our current political climate and seeing a world of perpetuated inequality and injustice to reverting back to statements like "who's the adult here? You're the parent/teacher/caregiver..." And, at the very deepest level, we waver between the earliest memories and ideas we hold inside of us about who we are and who we were at just 4 years old and the desire for our own tiny humans to experience something different. To tell a different story. Or maybe to tell the parts of our own that we could never put into words because we were "only children," and we "shouldn't talk back" and we should "stop crying and be brave."
But today, I want you and your children to internalize only one thing. Yes, words are powerful and words are power. There will be a lifetime of opportunities for words to shape us into being and becoming. And we will have just as many opportunities to say and do the "right thing" as we will to miss the mark. It can feel like an immense burden when you look at it through that lens or you can lift that burden and feel the freedom of knowing that becoming is a verb. The story doesn't end here. In this moment, the greatest gift of words and actions that we can give to the little ones in our care is the core belief that who they are already in this moment is enough. And imagine the ripple effect of gifting that to yourself as well--because no matter how tall we eventually grow to walk, we should all be able to carry a big stick.
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