“I’m Sorry for the Tear-Stained Letter” Lessons learned from my own parenting journey about the power of positive discomfort
It was 1998. My son, Sam (who has given me permission to share this story), was eight and his dad and I were taking him to his first year at sleepaway camp. Sam had been so excited for months leading up to his departure. He’d visited the camp with his dad for a father-son weekend and loved it. He couldn’t wait to go back.
Then reality hit. At drop-off, Sam panicked. He was sobbing, begging us not to leave him there. I was sick to my stomach. Being the “emotional support parent” that I was (and still grapple with today), this was excruciating for me. As the rescuer in me roared to life, every bone in my body wanted to take him home. While I didn’t, I cried the entire two-hour drive home.
A few days later, a letter arrived. The page was wrinkled and began with: “I’m sorry for the tear-stained page.” It was filled with pleas for us to come pick him up. My anxiety was overwhelming. I wanted to hop in the car and rescue him.
Instead, I called the camp director who reported that Sam was thriving. He was fully engaged in the activities and making friends. But during rest-hour, when the kids are not distracted, they think about home and that’s the time the letter writing happens.
This helped me get a grip. I recognized that Sam could miss home and be okay.
We decided to trust the process and he stayed.
By the third week, Sam’s letters took a major turn; they were filled with stories about adventures and how much he loved camp. When we arrived to pick him up at the end of the session, he sobbed again, but this time because he didn’t want to leave.
Sam, now 34, still thinks of camp as one of the most meaningful, joyful experiences of his life. For me, that moment stands as one of my proudest as a mom: that somehow I mustered the strength to manage my own big emotions (being the highly sensitive person that I am). In so doing, I gave Sam the chance to work through his fear which resulted in his having this experience of a lifetime.
I share this story because I truly understand and feel so much compassion for families who find themselves in similar situations with their sensitive kids. I know how hard it is see them struggle, and how strong the urge is to take away their discomfort. I also know, especially with the benefit of 20:20 hindsight, what a gift it is to them to manage our own big feelings. This heroic, parental self-control creates the opportunity for them to see that they are more resilient than they (or we) think they are, and to gain so much pleasure from experiences they would otherwise miss out on.
Stories from the Trenches
Ruby (7) storms away from soccer practice and announces to her mom, Tricia, that she is quitting the team because her coach is mean. He had Ruby take a lap around the track because she was being silly and doing cartwheels instead of participating in the practice drills. Tricia witnessed the incident, and while she’s not a fan of having kids run laps—seemed old-school to her—it wasn’t abusive and he didn’t do it with any shaming or malice. Other players had to do a lap, too. And he had told the girls what the expectations were and that doing a lap would be the consequence for not listening or creating distractions, because he is teaching them to be good teammates.
It’s also important to note that Ruby has a low tolerance for discomfort. When she’s not the best at something or the going gets rough, she avoids or quits. When she wasn’t the fastest in her Girls On The Run group, she started to complain of stomach aches or hurting her ankle to get out of going to meet ups—only to be seen jumping around happily minutes later.
Tricia is torn. Soccer isn’t mandatory, like school, so is this something she should push?
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Oliver (8) comes home from baseball practice and announces he’s quitting. He says it’s “boring” and the coach is mean. Oliver’s dad, Joe, reaches out to the coach, whom they have heard is a good and fair leader. The coach explains that Oliver has been struggling with batting, as have many of the kids. When Oliver gets frustrated, he often hurls the bat, which can be dangerous. The consequence is helping the coach put away the equipment at the end of practice. Oliver was clearly miffed about this. The coach is not surprised about getting this call from Joe.
Joe is also not surprised about this report from the coach. Oliver has a very low tolerance for frustration. He is also self-conscious and quick to shame. Claiming boredom is often a proxy for discomfort when he is facing a challenge he wants to avoid.
In both of these cases, the parents decide to make it a “have-to” for their child to continue their respective activity. They are certain that their kids truly enjoy the sport and being part of a team, and that quitting will mean missing out on an important physical as well as social-emotional experience.
They suspect that their kids will regret it, based on past experience. They are also concerned that letting them quit will convey that they don’t have what it takes to rise to the expectations of a firm coach or to learn to cope when they aren’t the best or don’t perform perfectly.
These parents are compassionate toward their kids. In this age of “gentle parenting,” they recognize that the “strict” approach these coaches are taking is something they aren’t used to. They also aren’t used to their parents making decisions for them; in this case, having them continue in an activity they say they want to quit.
Going through this reflective process helps these parents build their own muscle for doing a hard thing: tolerating a lot of push-back. But they are resolved that this is what their children need, even if it’s not what they want. It’s what’s most loving, even if their kids make them feel that they’re anything but loving.
Accordingly, when they talk to their kids, they validate the challenges that can come up in being part of a team and playing a sport; that feelings of competition, frustration at not performing as they would like, and having a coach who has high expectations and holds kids accountable can feel hard and uncomfortable. And, they believe in their them—that they can do it. They share their own stories of having to adapt to different coach’s and teacher’s approaches as they were growing up. And now they are giving their kids the same opportunity.
They go on to explain that it’s a parent’s responsibility to take their kids to the activity they had committed to. What’s up to the child is how they participate once there. Their parents trust them to make the best decisions for themselves.
You’ll find lots more on positive discomfort and helping your child muscle through challenges in my new book, Big Reactors. You can also read free excerpts by going to this link.
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