Eight is too young for self-hate
Painful yet important reminders from our youngest’s latest meltdown
Last night we suffered another Chernobyl-grade meltdown.
It always begins innocently enough; a small exchange of words which quickly build into a medium-size misunderstanding which, suddenly, erupts into an all-out screaming fit complete with put-downs, punches, and eventually physical restraint.
Such is life with a passionate, fiery 8-year-old boy we once named Eliot.
Last night, however, was different.
Last night, I witnessed something scarier than any tantrum and more painful than any tiny-fisted punch to the chest.
Last night, for the first time ever, I saw true self-destruction.
The setting was our backyard pool. The spark being a wager the tweens of the house had started to see who could “polar bear it” the longest.
In this instance, to “polar bear it” means to wade into water that is well beyond uncomfortably cold up to your necks and then squat there, waiting for the weaklings to be weeded, or rather, waded out.
In retrospect, we should have seen it coming. After all, one of Eliot’s biggest triggers is being told he’s not old enough or big enough to follow his three older brothers. This is seconded only by a deep-seated aversion to being left out (which, let’s face it, who doesn’t have).
“Eliot, you can’t get in right now!” the well-meaning adults yelled from the balcony. “The older kids all have a bet going to see who can stay in the longest.”
The words “You,” Can’t,” “Old,” and “Kids,” are all fighting words for Eliot; starter fluid for his emotional bonfires.
Was the pool big enough for Eliot to jump in? Absolutely.
Would it have hurt anyone to have him participate in a non-compensatory fashion? Not at all.
Why, then, did we feel the need to restrict access?
I have no clue, but such is the life of imperfect parents.
Sure enough, within seconds of our proclamation, Eliot was totally lit up and literally scaling outside walls to get to the balcony.
