After the Storm
by Melanie Bettinelli on July 22, 2011
Night after night I throw myself headlong into this epic losing battle that is bedtime. Night after night I beat my head against the wall of my own inadequacy and Ben’s obstinance. Night after night I am confronted by the abyss of failure as all of us descend into tears, tears and more tears.
Anthony sits in my sister’s arms and throws me reproachful glances as he wails: Why aren’t you holding me, Mama? Sophie and Ben and Bella vie for my attention, for the coveted place in my lap, in my arms. Mama, read me this book. Mama, sing me this song. Mama, hold me. Only me. Mama, love me. Only me.
And there is no way I can tend all their needs. No way I can satisfy all their desires. I am finite and their needs are more than I can bear. I am weak and broken and I fail. I fail in love even when I am trying my hardest to succeed.
Sooner or later we always hit the point where Ben reaches ultimate frustration. As amazingly articulate as he is, as great as his vocabulary and as clear as his enunciation, still he is only two and he cannot always make himself understood. If he even understands himself what it is he wants and needs. He wants me and he doesn’t want me. Sooner or later we hit the point where everything becomes NO!
Ben, do you want me to sit in the chair?
NO!
Do you want me to sit on the floor?
NO!
Do you want me to cuddle you?
NO!
Do you want me to go?
NO!
Do you want me to stay?
NO!
Finally I am out of options. Nothing I can do will satisfy him. Neither my speech nor my silence. Neither my presence nor my absence. We are at an impasse and I begin to cry quietly in the dark and he finally settles down and tosses and turns until at long last sleep takes him.
In the silence as I listen to him frantically seeking sleep or seeking to avoid sleep or whatever it is he is doing I rage in my heart. I rant and rave. Why? What is the purpose of this? Where are you, God in all of this pain and misery? How can my children’s pain be answered? Why am I so inadequate, so broken? Why is this so bloody hard? When will this end? Why, God, why? I want to serve you as I serve my children but I cannot help them. Even when I am not messing things up, even when I’m entirely focused on them and doing my best, I still fail to give them what they want and need. Still they cry and cry and I cannot soothe their tears.
I long so to be able to understand this little boy who so wants to be understood. I understand this much at least: I understand his pain and frustration because it is the mirror of my own. We stand on either side of a gulf and confront each other longingly across the deep chasm of thorns and both of us rage at our impotence. I understand your frustration, Ben, because I am just as frustrated. You want to communicate your need and I want to communicate my love and somehow the messages have gone astray. Neither of us can make contact.
And then there is a small voice in the darkness, in the midst of the pain. As I try to pierce the gloom and to see Christ in my suffering son. I too once longed to soothe hurts which refused to be healed. I longed to feed those who would not eat. I thirsted to give drink to those who closed their mouths. I ached to comfort those who would not be consoled. I yearned to gather my chicks under my wings and they would not be gathered. I spoke and they did not understand. I loved and they did not feel my love. I suffered and they did not know my pain. I felt their pain and they did not feel my compassion. Every pain and sorrow that you feel I have felt it. Every longing that pierces your heart has pierced mine.
I too was helpless when there was no help. I too was hungry when there was no food. Thirsty when there was no drink. Tired when there was no rest. Full of pain when there was no comfort. I longed for companionship and felt abandoned when those I loved most failed to understand. I suffered loneliness and grieved when their human frailty and the weakness of the flesh overcame their love and they could not give what they longed to give.
Oh blessed peace. At last sleep overcomes the tired boy and he slumbers. At last understanding for the weary mother and balm for her broken heart. Tomorrow we may fight the battle again but for now there is sleep to knit up the ravelled sleeve of care.
Comments
Oh, Melanie. Thank you for this. I don’t have these kinds of struggles with my children often, but I had one today with Sienna, and felt horrible afterward. Rightly so. I treated her so badly. I needed to read this tonight. I’ll add you and Ben to our prayers. Poor little guy.
Posted by Calah on 07/23/11 at 12:29 AM
“for now there is sleep to knit up the ravelled sleeve of care.” Wow. Beautifully said, but heart wrenching. Praying for you and sweet Ben that your chasm closes soon.
Posted by dwija on 07/23/11 at 12:39 AM
How painful for you and Ben! While I was pondering your situation it occurred to me that in someways it has similarities to a struggle that we had with my older son over dinner. He was a very picky eater, and it got to the point that every dinner would degenerate to a wailing toddler and two frustrated parents going head to head with him. I hated the way were all responding to the situation, but I also felt that it was important for my son’s well being that he learn to eat healthily. The turning point for me was when I realized that having a fit at the dinner table was becoming an evening ritual. It was almost a part of the meal itself. My son would kick up a fuss about eating some one element of the current dinner (on which he might eat very nicely at another time) and we would then enter a power struggle/fit over whether or not he was going to eat it. My husband and I talked about how we could disengage emotionally from the situation so that our son wouldn’t feed off our emotions, and we figured out how to interact with him to stop the bad behavior (which in our case involved disciplining him by sending him to bed early, among other things). It was very painful, and it took a long time (like about a year) to work it out, and he still occassionally has rough nights. But he went from having a fit every night to being slightly hard to deal with once every two weeks or so.
Every parent is different, every kid is different. My situation might not resonate with you at all, and what worked for us might not apply in any way to your situation. At the same time, it may be the unhappiness and the not being satisfied with any of your bedtime helps might be part of Ben’s evening ritual at this point. You have been very patient with him and loving, and I think that is beautiful. And it’s possible that he will just get over it with enough of your love and attention. But if you feel that the situation is having a bad impact on the rest of your family and you, I think that another loving response might be to find ways to (for lack of a better word) discipline him out of it.
I actually am submitting this comment with extreme trepidation, because unsolicited advice can be annoying and distressing. The reason that I’m going to post a reply anyway is that it seems like you are really working hard to make this situation better and that it is getting you down and making you underestimate your parenting. From what you write about your faith and your family on this blog, I admire what you’re doing and am sorry to see you struggle!
Posted by Erica on 07/23/11 at 01:09 AM
Melanie, I’m so sorry bedtime is so difficult. I don’t have any advice but will pray for all of you.
Posted by Katherine on 07/23/11 at 07:47 AM
Melanie, you and your little Ben are in my prayers. I am where you are right now-nothing I do with Philomena is right, and it’s so shattering. Hugs and prayers and lots of solidarity.
Posted by Lydia on 07/23/11 at 03:41 PM
Calah, I’m sure Christopher being away has made it extra hard on all of you especially the kids. Praying for you guys. And thank you for your prayers. Us moms gotta stick together.
Dwija, Yeah cribbing from Shakespeare is always effective.
Thank you for the prayers.
Erica,
I’ve pretty much been thinking along the same lines: that the battle of wills has become a part of the routine. Unfortunately I can think of no disciplinary measures that don’t just keep engaging the battle. We’re going to try a new bed and see if that doesn’t change things up enough to disengage the battle.
Thanks Katherine and Lydia. Lydia, I was thinking of you when I wrote my post this morning. Yes, sometimes just one kid can be overwhelming. Prayers for you and Philomena.
Posted by Melanie Bettinelli on 07/23/11 at 05:53 PM
Good luck with the new bed! I hope it helps break the cycle for you guys. Re: discipline that would break the battle engagement, I’ve found that with my kids moving the child that needs to calm down to a safe place that is away from distractions (like a play yard in a separate by nearby room) can help. You’ve probably already tried this, but since you didn’t mention in other posts I thought I’d throw it out there. We’ll be praying for you, too!
Posted by Erica on 07/23/11 at 06:29 PM
The only real possibility like that is the play yard in the other room where Ben often naps. It has the benefit of familiarity but the downside is it already has been a place of showdowns and so doesn’t really avoid the escalation. It wouldn’t calm him down to be put there. Instead I’m pretty sure it would amp up the tension and his being put there screaming would make things worse not better. So I think I’m still staking my hopes on the new bed.
Posted by Melanie Bettinelli on 07/24/11 at 12:33 AM