Few experiences any of us undergo are as transformative as parenting. By definition, parenting is about transformation. One of our most important jobs as parents is to witness and influence the evolution of our children from wrinkly newborns with raw nervous systems into integrated, whole humans who know who they are and how to be in the world. And parenting obviously transforms us as well. There are smaller transformations—we learn to do most things “one-handed” while carrying a baby on our hip; we begin to eat at McDonalds; we memorize the names of dinosaurs; we learn to play video games again; we even buy a mini-van (which for some is a bigger transformation than for others). And there are huge, life-changing transformations—we adjust our priorities; we make sacrifices that cost us greatly; we learn to live with worrying and “what ifs”; we forever expand our hearts.
And during all of this, we become more creative than we ever knew possible. I’m not talking about the creativity of artists, song-writers, or novelists. I’m talking about the creativity that’s required for survival for anyone caring for children. I knew I’d been forever transformed by my role as a parent when, in my attempt to get through to my non-compliant little streakers, creativity sprung forth from desperation, and I made up a song with a chorus that began, “No naked butts on the furniture.” (Unfortunately, it was so catchy that one day I actually found myself singing it in the car by myself. As I said, parenting changes us.)
What’s more, transformation isn’t limited to people. We can also use our creativity to transform moments, so that the situations and circumstances we face can change into something else. Moments can be transformed for the worse, like when our amygdala shifts into overdrive and a sweet, bedtime cuddle turns into a fierce battle, complete with crying, wailing, and gnashing of teeth for all involved. But likewise, we can transform moments for the good of ourselves and our children, so that an ordinary, everyday parenting challenge is converted into an opportunity for growth, connection, and relationship. And to do this, it almost always requires creativity. Creativity allows us to transform a battle and a disconnection into an opportunity to bond, to play, to teach, and even to develop the higher parts of our kids’ brains. I don’t always achieve this lofty goal, but when I’m able to, I’m reminded of just how powerful it can be when we use our creativity to transform the moments we’re given.
For example, recently, we were eating with my out-of-town in-laws at one of our favorite Mexican food restaurants. I noticed that our four-year-old, Luke, had left the table and was standing behind a pillar about ten feet away. As much as I love Luke, and as adorable as he is most of the time, when I saw his angry, defiant face coupled with his repeated tongue-thrusting aimed at our table, “adorable” wasn’t the word that came to my mind. My in-laws and the diners at surrounding tables noticed and looked at my husband Scott and me to see how we were going to handle the situation. In that moment, Scott and I felt the pressure and judgment of those watching and expecting us to lay down the law about manners at a restaurant.
Just the day before, I had given a talk to a group of parents about this idea of using everyday moments—everyday challenges—as opportunities to develop the growing brain by engaging it. So, luckily for Luke, it was fresh in my mind. I clearly saw two choices as I walked over and crouched down eye-level with my young son. Option #1: I could do what was apparently expected by my observers (and possibly even Luke) and open with a clichéd threat uttered in a firm tone of voice and with a stern facial expression: “Stop making faces and go sit at the table right now and eat your lunch or you won’t get any dessert.” And I believe this would’ve been an appropriate parental response. But, knowing my Luke, this verbal and non-verbal confrontation would’ve triggered his lower, more primitive, reptilian brain, and we would’ve seen “Lizard Luke” fight back like a reptile under attack. Or, Option #2: I could try to tap into the higher parts of his brain in an effort to get more of a “thinking” response, as opposed to a “fighting” response. I chose Option #2.
I started with an observation: “Luke—you look like you feel angry. Is that right?” He stuck out his tongue at me and loudly proclaimed, “YES!” (I was actually relieved that he stopped there; it wouldn’t have been at all unlike him to add his latest favorite insult and call me “Fart-face Jones.”) I asked him what he felt angry about and discovered that he was furious that Scott told him he needed to eat at least half of his quesadilla before he could have dessert. Since I wanted to elicit a higher mode of cortical functioning from him, I said, “Well, Daddy is really good at negotiating. Decide what you think would be a fair amount to eat, and then go present your argument to him. Let me know if you need help thinking about what your plan is.” I tousled his hair and smiled to let him know that he wasn’t “in trouble,” and that I had faith in him to work out this interpersonal breach between him and his dad. I returned to the table and watched his once-again adorable face show evidence of doing some hard thinking.
Within fifteen seconds or so, he returned to the table and approached Scott with an angry tone of voice: “Dad, I don’t want to eat half of my quesadilla. AND I want dessert.” Scott, who is one of the most even and respectful parents I know, perfectly dovetailed with how I’d encouraged Luke to respond, asking, “Well, what do you think would be a fair amount?” And this is my favorite part of the story. Luke answered with firm resolve: “I’ve got one word for you: Ten bites.” (What makes this un-mathematical response even funnier is that ten bites meant that Luke would eat well over half the quesadilla.) Scott accepted Luke’s counter-offer, Luke happily gobbled down ten bites and then his dessert, and the whole family (as well as the restaurant’s other patrons) got to enjoy our meals with no further incidents.
As I said, Option #1 would have been perfectly fine; it would have been appropriate. But it also would have missed an opportunity. Luke would have missed a chance to see that relationships are about connection, communication, and negotiation, instead of power, control, and threat. He would have missed a chance to feel empowered that he can make choices, affect his environment, and solve problems. He would have missed an opportunity to exercise and develop important parts of his brain. And I hasten to point out that even though I chose Option #2, Scott and I still had to address the misbehavior part of the incident; once Luke was back more in control of himself, and could actually be receptive to what we had to say, we discussed the importance of being respectful and using good manners in a restaurant, even when he’s unhappy.
This story is a good example of a point I’m often trying to get across to other parents—and having to remind myself: To a fairly large degree, we really can influence the kind of responses we get from our children. Take discipline, for instance. We spend an enormous amount of time addressing and correcting misbehaviors, and so often both parent and child are left feeling frustrated and disconnected. The approach to discipline most of us have been taught will often highly activate the lower brain structures, yielding fear and anger and defensive disconnection.
But, by using creativity, we can transform these moments and allow them to activate our children’s higher brain structures. By changing how we think about discipline—seeing it as a chance to teach our children and develop their brains—we can creatively transform everyday interactions into opportunities to nurture the connections in their brains; which means we’re nurturing our relationships with them as well. And that means our kids can continue to grow and evolve into the kind of healthy, integrated, relational people we want them to be.
As parents, we look for all kinds of ways to teach our children, to nurture their development. And it’s great to take them to the museum, to piano lessons, to the observatory, to a baseball game. But we also want to pay attention to the rich, minute-by-minute opportunities we’re given, and creatively transform these moments as well. What this requires—and there are plenty of times when I’m not very good at doing it—is that we take ourselves off of auto-pilot and look at each moment with fresh eyes. And though it isn’t easy by any stretch of the imagination, when we can step back and achieve a certain amount of critical distance from the situation at hand, that’s when we can begin to really transform moments. And really, that’s just about the most we can hope for as parents. We can work hard to remain watchful for moments—hundreds of moments, large and small, throughout the day—and transform them, and allow them to transform us and our kids as well.
By Tina Payne Bryson, Ph.D.
