Emotional Fairness
My sister and I were very close growing up - still are. We shared similar interests, friends, clothes and secrets. She was the leader I didn’t know I needed and I was her biggest cheerleader. To this day, we’re still referred to as “the girls” by our family members. I couldn't imagine doing life without her.
One of the most gratifying things about parenting siblings is watching their relationship grow. Just as I was close to my sister, so too are my boys to each other. It’s beautiful. They play together, share a secret language, laugh at the same jokes, and include the other when friends are around. Most nights and weekends, they are outside playing basketball or throwing the football. Sometimes, I’ll find them at the dining room table playing an intense game of chess. For the most part, they are always together. And, for the most part, they get along beautifully. Until they don’t. And then the big emotions come out to play.
For all their similarities, how they handle their emotions is among their biggest difference. And, if I’m brutally honest, this is where my parenting is tested the most. Eli once told me "I'm not afraid to cry. I cry everyday." And, he's not kidding. Although he hates to cry in public, at home, he can dissolve into a puddle of tears in an instant. Coupled with his crying, he will tearfully explain his dilemma through what I like to call "sob-talking." His face takes on a pained expression, tears stream down his face, snot pours out of his nose, and his words are interrupted with uncontrollable sobs. It’s devastating to watch and even harder to listen to.
Emmett, on the other hand, is my yeller. He stomps around, yelling for all the neighbors to hear, states his business and storms out of the room (or off the stage, as I like to say). He’s either on the path to becoming a thespian or a lawyer. Maybe both. He enunciates his words as if he’s teaching a class of preschoolers - “I will NOT-uh let you WIN-uh” or “You are the WORST-uh MOM-uh EVER-uh.” He’s loud and obnoxious, and his performance always ends by exiting stage left. It takes everything I have not to say “break a leg!’ each time he begins his performance. I realize it sounds funny (and sometimes it is), but it can also be devastating to watch and hard to listen to.
Truth be told, my reactions to each of my boys isn’t always fair. I’m more inclined to react in a sympathetic and understanding tone with Eli, mainly because his pain is so evident, the trauma on his face so visible. His vulnerability is precious and his tears are real and meaningful. He easily climbs onto my lap and allows me to engulf him in hug, his breathing quickly matching mine. His emotions are familiar; my response comes naturally.
Emmett’s emotions are much more foreign to me. He reacts out of anger and frustration, appearing prickly and unreachable. He often creates a tornado of emotions as he storms through the room, leaving his pain and hurt in the dust that settles after his departure. He takes longer to reach, longer to calm down, longer to understand. He often exclaims “you are so much easier on Eli!”, and he’s not wrong. Nothing about my reaction comes naturally to me. I fail him time and time again, as I grapple with how to give him what he needs.
So the rub becomes how to react in a way that is fair to both boys. Honestly, I’m a work in progress. There are days I do better, but their are many days I fail. But, here’s what I know for sure: I can learn. I can be better. I can do better. Because I know my reaction is critical to their emotional well-being. As each boy dissolves into their emotions, I’ve started having an internal conversation with myself, thinking before I speak, allowing each boy the opportunity to speak. This sounds so ridiculous, I know, but it’s human nature to gravitate towards those that are most in-line with who we are. Remaining neutral is critical, but more challenging than it sounds. I can’t value their closeness if I can’t also encourage their independence. And I love who they are…together and apart.
