Many in today’s pregnancy-flaunting, soccer-cheering, organic-snack-proffering generation of parents would never spank their children. We congratulate our toddlers for blowing their nose (“Good job!”), we friend our teenagers (literally and virtually), we spend hours teaching our elementary-school offspring how to understand their feelings. But, incongruously and with regularity, this is a generation that yells.
“I’ve worked with thousands of parents and I can tell you, without question, that screaming is the new spanking,” said Amy McCready, the founder of Positive Parenting Solutions, which teaches parenting skills in classes, individual coaching sessions and an online course. “This is so the issue right now. As parents understand that it’s not socially acceptable to spank children, they are at a loss for what they can do. They resort to reminding, nagging, timeout, counting 1-2-3 and quickly realize that those strategies don’t work to change behavior. In the absence of tools that really work, they feel frustrated and angry and raise their voice. They feel guilty afterward, and the whole cycle begins again.”
Sound familiar? I'm one of those helicopter parents (trying desperately not to hover too close) who doesn't believe in spanking, who really prefers "time-in" discussions of feelings and actions to timeouts, but who sometimes finds herself yelling to get attention and action. And I don't like it. Timeouts haven't been working well for us, mainly because the kids refuse to go and I can't physically force them because of actual worries about my back and philosophical concerns about using physical force, similar to spankings, to achieve results. So, I resort to putting toys in timeout instead. And this whole, completely ineffective negotiation begins--"You have a timeout. Go sit in the timeout spot"--"I'm not going!"--"Go to timeout or I'll put a toy away"--"Which toy?"--"I'm not telling. Go to timeout!" AGGGGGHHHHH. It's asinine. And so sometimes I yell. Or I yell when they are fighting like cats and dogs, wrapped up in each other's arms and legs, intent on hurting each other and I can't pull them apart--yelling makes them stop long enough to separate. My goodness, I knew it was bad the day I yelled at them to stop yelling! Even as I did it, the irony did not escape--or stop--me. (Insert the required statement that I really don't yell that much, certainly not everyday, just a couple of times a week. But I'm not sure either of us would believe me. Let's just say it's not everyday but more than I like).
But out of guilt that I am out of ideas, that I am sometimes not the parent I want to be, I apologize after I yell (though usually not until after everything has died down). And they apologize that they were acting up and acting out. And so some progress--is that what it is?--is made. Recently, though, I've altered my timeout strategy somewhat: I'm not arguing with a 4-year old over going to timeout. So I've eliminated the issue of "go," of where timeout--that way I need not figure out how to move them--they choose the spot as long as they aren't near their sibling or playing with toys. Suddenly, there is less to argue about and they just do it (grudgingly, of course). It's working like a charm now. And the need for it is decreasing as my consistency with the strategy increases. I think, by letting them choose the spot, it's more like Dr. Rao's Sendakian time-away than a timeout.
Of course, the NVC-er in me recognizes that all coercion, even if it's more civilized than yelling, is a form of violent communication. And I've read about unconditional parenting and using reason and love. And I believe in it and do it. I'm even getting much better at it. And so are they--they can identify their feelings and say what they need. But when it doesn't work, when I'm out of ideas and out of patience, when they are still fighting, when we are all beyond talking and thinking and reasoning, the only thing left is to yell. And, in the silence that follows, to say "sorry" and start again . . . .
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